Chrysalis - Pieces of the Heart, #7
by GeekGirlz-R-Us
Summary: Part 3 up! There's a chance that Buffy might still be alive in Glory's realm. The Fang Gang and the Scoobies must work together to find out if she is.
1. Default Chapter

PIECES OF THE HEART, PART SEVEN:   
CHRYSALIS  
  
By D.M. Evans & S.J. Smith   
  
DISCLAIMER: Don't own nothin' in re: BtVS or AtS. We also don't own rights to William Butler Yeats.   
  
A.N. This story went A.U. with "Blood Will Tell", part Two in this series.   
  
*********  
Chapter 1  
  
The blonde woman wrinkled her nose against the smell of the market place. As much as the bright white sunlight hurt her eyes, the stench was that much more overwhelming. Under the effluvia of perfume rising from her and the other females she was herded onto a stage with was a sickly smell she couldn't identify.  
  
She looked around at the women grouped with her. They were different from her; she knew that much even though she no longer had a clear self picture in her mind. Most were like the women who had dressed her, small, thin and uniform in coloring. A few others were tall, taller than she, and markedly thin. They had very large luminous eyes and brightly colored hair. Their features were fine and small but still very human-looking yet somehow she knew they weren't. Scabby ugly little creatures roamed around the stage appearing to her to be servants of some kind.  
  
She watched as several of the small uniform females were forced to the lip of the stage they were on. She could barely see the sea of people beyond the stage through her watering eyes but she got the impression they were mostly bored men. A heavier-set tall man with a shock of hair nearly lilac in color took center stage, beginning to extol the virtues of the women huddled before him. From the silence of the crowd she assumed no one was interested in what he had to say.  
  
She shut her eyes, burying her face in her hands. Nojh, the small woman who had brought her to the stage tore her hands away.  
  
"You'll ruin all your beautiful make-up," Nojh hissed.  
  
She sobbed but was too afraid to let her tears fall. What was the punishment for ruining make-up? From her companion's tone, there surely must be one. Where were her friends? Why weren't they coming for her? Didn't they know she needed them?  
  
A word formed in her mind; angel. What did that have to do with anything? She couldn't recall any ingrained belief in angels. Then again, she couldn't remember her own name. Maybe Angel was her name. She whispered it softly, rolling it around on her tongue, trying it on for size. It didn't seem to fit. She didn't feel like an Angel. Maybe it was a pet name. She might be an Angelina or Angie but that also felt wrong. Still there was something warm and comforting about the name, Angel. She liked it a lot for some reason. It made her feel loved and needed. Maybe she was wrong and she did have a deep belief in angels. Maybe she was a nun or something, for it to have some reason that it would mean so much to her.  
  
"Sold."  
  
That word from the man at center stage dragged her attention back to where she was. Suddenly she understood. This was an auction. The huddle of women had just been sold off like a pair of shoes or a steak for dinner. She shook her head at the  
realization this was her future. She glanced around frantically, trying to focus, trying to figure a way out. She wasn't even sure why she even thought she had a chance at escape but something in her told her she was capable of it.  
  
She shoved her handler away and ran. Leaping from the stage, she expected to break bones when she landed but something in her body felt at home doing this. She twisted lithely and her legs expertly cushioned the shock. She ran for the wall. One of the men grabbed her but she spun out of his grasp, kicking him. He stumbled back and she took him to ground with a spin kick. She stared at the fallen man bleeding into the dirt, wondering how she had done that. The word 'Giles' popped into her mind but she wasn't quite sure what it meant. Was it a name of what she had just done? Was it someone she knew? She didn't have the answer but Giles meant something important to her.  
  
She launched herself at the wall. Something rammed into her back and pain sizzled through her. She landed on her spine, breathless, unable to move. One of the men jammed a long metallic stick-like thing into her belly. Her body arched, her legs jumping as the thing pumped energy into her. Other men swooped on her, chained her and dragged her back to her keeper. The young female dusted at the diaphanous clothing she wore.  
  
"Just look at you. What a mess. How will you ever find a lord worth having a prize like you if you make a mess of yourself running around like that?" Nohj snapped.  
  
She couldn't respond to the creature, the pain still overwhelming her senses. She just lay on the stage while other females were put on the block like nothing had happened. Finally she was able to sit up. She watched as one of the thin stately women who seemed to be the same species as the men buying the female slaves was led to the block. She generated far more interest than any of the other smaller females had. The men seemed to like this woman far better. She could tell this poor woman was being sold for a lot of money or whatever they were using for currency.  
  
"Stand," her handler said, tugging on her manacled wrist.   
  
She refused to stand but two men dragged her to the block and when she wouldn't stand they forced her to her feet, holding her there. She fought and squirmed as much as her pain would allow, her see-through clothing flashing the audience. They howled with glee and lust.  
  
"And here we have a very special treat for all you Lordships. I don't have to tell you how rare it is to have a member of her species here at Lexa Market. You have seen her fire and her beauty speaks for itself. Yes, she may take a little work to train her to be properly submissive but I know you are all up to the challenge. Who wants to begin the bidding?" His voice took on a suggestive tone that made a cold chill stroke her spine.  
  
She watched them whip into a frenzy. She wanted to scream that it was wrong to buy people. She just plain wanted to scream. But she was still barely able to breathe without pain. She cried silently, knowing now her friends, if they were even looking for her, would never get to her in time. Maybe that's why she was so obsessed with the name 'Angel'. This was hell and she was waiting for one to rescue her.  
  
"Sold!" the auctioneer cried. "To Lord Colpa. I'm sure his lordship will be most pleased with his purchase.  
  
She didn't even attempt to fight as she was led away from the marketplace and bundled into a carriage with her handler. She watched the marketplace slide away through tear-blurred eyes, finally burying her face against the seat pillow and submitting to her body's  
cries for an escape from the pain, slipping into unconsciousness.  
  
***  
  
Cool breezes caressed his check and ruffled his hair. Powerful muscles surged under him. There was a primal thrill having so much strength between his legs. Spike tossed his head back, letting the moonlight shine in his eyes. His lips parted, drinking in the air bringing tastes to his tongue. Subtle scents tickled his nose. The smell of the horse beneath him, the perfumed skin of his companions, the arousal hanging in the air, all stirred his dead flesh. He glanced around him. To his left rode Buffy on a shimmery horse the grey of shadow. Angel, as per his usual tastes, sat astride a black stallion. Giggling on his right was Dru, sidesaddle on a gleaming white mare.   
  
They shared more than a moonlight ride. He felt near drunk on the heady perfume of all their excitement. It was all any of them could do to keep from tumbling from their mounts into a heap of writhing, aching bodies on the sands. The primordial aroma of the salt air worked its way into his senses, exploding in his mouth with the promises from ancient days, the taste of blood with its salty bouquet, the nectar of a woman's love as it coated his tongue like a reward for his gentle probings. The pounding surf filled his mind with thoughts of driving himself into Dru or Buffy or both. He had energy and enthusiasm to share.  
  
Angel cut away from the shore guiding his mount toward a castle perched on the top of a wooded hill. Always the leader, Angel was, and in spite of himself, Spike canted his horse to follow him. It was easier to go along. Dru liked it when he and Angel frictioned along, sparks burning up everything in their way. Buffy did not enjoy being the bone caught in the jaws of two hungry dogs half as much as Dru did. She was both the disease and the cure for the vampires. She would be the death of them all.  
  
Angel leapt off his horse, sending the beast pounding into the stable. He swept Buffy off her mount, carrying her toward the castle. Spike did likewise with Dru, watching the shadowy horses disappear into their barn into the waiting care of their servants. Dru nuzzled and bit at him as he carried her. The scents of arousal made his fangs ache in their sockets.  
  
Angel kicked open the heavy front door and prowled into a room dominated by a fireplace and pillowy furniture set on thick rugs. A fire danced seductively in its grey granite cage. Spike spilled to the floor with Dru, thankful to all that was holy, and even more to things that weren't, that she favored skirts. He pushed hers up, trailing his tongue along the velvety inside of her thigh. Buffy sat on his back, her strong legs squeezing him like the shadowy horse she had just quit. One of her hands toyed with his hair, now in long golden curls, while the other reached back to caress Angel's taut abdomen.  
  
Spike sat up with an explosive moan. He glanced around at the darkened room then flopped back. "Bloody Hell!" Dreams like that should have ended when he was still a mortal teen as far as he was concerned. The sweaty sheets looked like the shadowy horses had been cantering laps on them. His fingers fumbled for the nightstand and his pack of fags. He slipped one between his lips and sucked in the smoke. It danced around in what was left of his dead lungs as he tried to will his body back under his control.  
  
He could still see Buffy on the shadowy horse. He could taste Dru in his mouth. Words sprang unbidden into his mind.  
  
"I hear the Shadowy Horses, their long manes a-shake,  
Their hoofs heavy with tumult, their eyes glimmering white...  
O vanity of Sleep, Hope, Dream, endless Desire,  
The Horses of Disaster plunge in the heavy clay:  
Beloved, let your eyes half close, and your heart beat  
Over my hearts, and your hair fall over my breast, Drowning love's lonely hour in deep twilight of rest,  
And hiding their tossing manes and their tumultuous feet."  
  
Yeats. How he used to love those words when he was mortal. How he tried to be like Yeats and the other poets and what did it get him, laughed at, except for Dru. She loved him and his words. Why couldn't he still love her? What was this love for the Slayer that rotted him from within? Hope, Dream and endless Desire, it was like Yeats had looked forward into his and Angel's dead hearts, plucking out today's fears and worries. They both dreamed and hoped Buffy was alive. Both would desire her beyond reason, beyond all hope until it would destroy them. Horses of disaster awaited them if they crossed over for Buffy. Spike knew this. He knew he was better off if she never came back. He might recover himself without her. Even so, he knew he'd go to rescue her.  
  
He forced himself out of bed, stumbling around the room on rubbery legs. He and Angel had bunked back down in their old mansion. It smelled musty and mildewy but it would serve their purpose. He wondered why he never came back here on his own instead of living in a crypt. The answer was obvious, of course. Angel had chosen this place, not him. Angel was always the one in charge and Spike always resented that control. He knew even if they got Buffy back they could never share her. Neither could truly have her and both would fight to the death to pretend they could.  
  
He pulled his duster over his naked body, too exhausted to find his clothing. It was a bad choice, the soft leather exciting his over-sensitized skin. Ignoring it, he took a drag on the cigarette and headed outside to the garden. There was a place he could sit and look at the sun without being burned. He sat there, playing with the moss on the stone steps with his bare toes. He heard someone behind him and didn't have to turn to know it was Angel. The older vampire sat behind him, careful to stay in the shadows.  
  
Spike turned to look at him, seeing something like worry in Angel's dark eyes. "What do you want, Peaches?"  
  
Angel wrinkled his nose. Spike looked awful. Angel could read the agitation in his gaunt face, see the dark circles under haunted grey eyes. "You need your rest, Spike. What are you doing out here?"  
  
Spike shook his head. "Can't sleep. Guessing you can't either."  
  
"No, but then again my insides weren't cooked by electricity." Angel said slowly, knowing this wouldn't go over well, "You aren't well enough to come with us after Buffy."   
  
Spike snorted. "I'll make it. I won't let you...her down. Maybe Red has a healing spell." He pursed his lips and Angel could swear he could see straight through the younger vampire's thin cheeks. He was always such a scrawny little creature that his strength and agility often amazed Angel though he would never admit it aloud. "Can healing spells even work on dead flesh?"  
  
"I don't know. If you aren't stronger, you'll have to stay here. You're in no shape to fight." Angel's dark eyes brooked no argument.  
  
"I would be if you let me eat some of the unnecessary Scoobs like Harris and Chase." Spike offered a sick smile.  
  
Angel shook his head. "You couldn't even if I were to let you. Do you need me to get you some more blood out of the fridge?"  
  
Spike made a face. "Pig's blood. It doesn't satisfy, does it? Not really. I try to make it taste better, to make it more nourishing but I can't."  
  
Angel shrugged his broad shoulders. "Blood is blood. It doesn't matter."  
  
Spike considered the look in Angel's eyes. "You don't believe that any more than I do."  
  
"Shut up, Spike," he said, though something flared in his gaze that Spike wished he dared ask about.  
  
Spike let his head drop. He took out another cigarette. "What if she's not there, Angel? What if she's really dead? What if she doesn't want rescued? If she's dead, you know she's not in hell. She wouldn't deserve to lose heaven. She won't thank us for ruining that."  
  
Angel didn't answer at first. Spike waited him out. "I know...that's why I wasn't eager to use that scroll, the one that brought back Darla. But we have to look for her, Spike. If she's in Glory's realm, she needs us. She wants us to find her. If she's not there...if she's dead...maybe that's the end of it."  
  
"They never come back right when they're brought back from the dead. Tried to tell that to the niblet when she wanted her mother back...funny thing, Angel. I wanted Joyce back, too. I keep telling myself I'm not domesticated, that it's just the chip but it's not. It keeps me from hurting them, but it can't make me care about them." Spike blew smoke rings. "Somehow, I care."  
  
Angel's fingers dug into the stone step. He didn't want to think of Buffy dead, of them not finding her, or about how much Spike might really care. "She's not dead. I keep telling myself that. I have to believe that or I can't do this."  
  
Spike nodded. "I know. Rupert arrived today, didn't he? Aren't they all at the Magic Box looking over those books? Maybe we should take the scenic sewer route and help them."  
  
"I might. You aren't up to it. Rest or you're going to be useless," Angel warned.  
  
Spike shrugged his shoulders, his jacket gaping open. He snatched it shut. Angel stood and offered down his hand. Spike let him help him up.  
  
"You know, Spike, that coat comes open again and you'll have much more interesting burns than the ones you already have."  
  
Spike saw the dark humor in his grandsire's eyes. "On things I hold more dear than dead lungs, yeah, I know."  
  
"Thank you for the mental image that will haunt me for centuries." Angel hauled him back into the mansion. He steered Spike back to his room and waited for him to go inside.   
  
Spike glanced back as Angel shut the door. He wanted to go with him to help but he knew Angel was right. He was uselessly weak. He went to the cooler they had put in his room so he wouldn't have to walk all the way to the fridge and he helped himself to the blood inside. He drank it cold and collapsed back into bed, praying for moonlight.  
  
* * * 


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2  
  
She was grateful for having her chains removed by the little female once they were inside a chamber of staggering size. Little globes glowed with blueish light, littering most of the flat surfaces such as nightstands, windowsills and dressers, casting soft shadows around the room. A spicy scent hung in the air.  
  
"You're so lucky. Lord Colpa is one of the wealthiest warlords in the land. Anyone would be proud to be one of his concubines," Nojh said, taking a brush out of her satchel. She started to brush her charge's long hair.  
  
She flinched away, shoving at Nojh. "Don't touch me."  
  
The small female's face screwed up, showing the first signs of emotions the girl could actually read. "You want to look nice for Lord Colpa."  
  
"I don't care."  
  
"You do not want to offend his lordship. He can be quite cruel." Fear shone in Nojh's eyes.  
  
It sent a shiver up her spine. She suddenly realized how much danger she might be in. Something the auctioneer had said finally clicked in her muddled head: 'rarely see one of her species.' No wonder no one was coming to her rescue. She obviously wasn't where she belonged. Her kind didn't live here. Her friends were nowhere near here. She had no one but herself to depend on so she had to be smarter. She needed to know more than she did and Nojh was her only source at the moment.  
  
"Tell me about Lord Colpa."  
  
As she listened to Nojh, she took careful stock of the room. There was only one small window set high in the wall, incongruous with the otherwise huge room. She would have expected to see many windows raining in sunlight but she thought she knew why there was just the one tiny window. She couldn't see out of it and there was no hope of escape that way. She would never fit through.  
  
She studied the thick wood door with its iron studding. Her fear mounted as Nojh extolled what she obviously saw as virtues in Lord Colpa, one atrocity after another. Colpa was more than a rich lord. He was some sort of general who listed torture among his favorite hobbies. There was no end to the things he wouldn't do, people he wouldn't rape and kill. Eating the organs of his prey while enjoying a glass of wine seemed to provide his favorite epicurean delight. Why this wasn't more shocking, she couldn't say. It was as if she had heard horrible things like this on a regular basis but had no idea why this would be so.  
  
She knew she was anything but lucky despite what she was being told by her handler. There was no way of dealing with such a man. No matter how hard she would try to please him, even if she could, he would turn on her like a viper. She had no doubt he would eventually tire of her and make a banquet out of her. She would die here and her friends would never know where she was.  
  
"You'll do fine....if you learn to control yourself. You can't run around. You can't fight. You have no hope of doing anything other than hurt yourself," Nojh promised her, getting to her feet.  
  
She just nodded, not looking at the little being.  
  
"You'll be on your own. I don't know how his lordship will handle giving you servants, if he even will. I have no say in it but concubines are often very well kept. I'm sure you'll have a host of servants if you behave yourself. My job here is finished."  
  
Without further discussion Nojh went to the door and pulled the velvet strap by it. There was no sound but the girl suspected it must jangle a servant's bell somewhere like she used to see in the movies. Within a minute, the door opened. She considered briefly rushing it but the two men there were armed and they escorted Nojh out. She heard something that sounded like a bar being thumped back into place.  
  
She tugged a chair of horn and leather over to the window and perched on it so she could see out. She collapsed onto the chair with a sob. Even if she could get out of the window, it would only be to fall to her death on the jagged rocks many feet below. Collecting herself, she examined the rest of the room especially the area behind a series of panels. She had been hoping for another room or a window but there was only a metal tub on clawed feet and a bench with a hole in it that she took to be the toilet. Beside it was a stack of soft cloth-like sheaves she assumed to be this world's version of toilet paper. She had been too frightened to notice her screaming bladder until now so she made use of the facilities offered then resumed her search.  
  
The bed was obvious the centerpiece of the room. She had no doubts what this lord wanted her for. She opened every armoire and trunk but all they had were thin, revealing clothing and jewelry. The clothing would be a rough fit for her so she figured she had been purchased to fit this lord's ideal of what a woman should look like.  
  
She turned her attention finally to the door. Throwing her shoulder against it would only result in a badly bruised shoulder, so she tried to work it through logically. The door was far too thick to break and the iron studding would only reinforce it. But like all doors it had a weakness: the lock and the doorjamb itself. That didn't appear to be reinforced. She kicked the door. Pain radiated up to her hip. The door even more well built than she feared and she did hear something clacking on the other side. Most likely it was indeed barred on top of the lock. She kicked it several more times until her leg went numb. She leaned against it, panting. Thinking she heard something, she caught her breath so she could listen more closely. She detected the sharp click of boots coming up the hall. She moved away from the door, knowing she was in no shape to run, still tired, disoriented and in pain from the treatment at the market. She didn't want to look guilty if someone came through the door.  
  
She listened to the boots, praying they would just keep walking past her door. The sound stopped. Maybe he or she had gone into another room somewhere. Then she heard something being slid away. The sounds of metal on metal followed and the lock popped. She started to shiver as the knob turned. She dropped back, her body instinctively falling back into a defensive position. The warnings not to fight this lord echoed in her head, but she couldn't help herself. Fighting was what she was made for, deep down she knew that to be true.  
  
The door opened and a man stepped through. She wasn't sure what she was expecting, something large and imposing perhaps, but not this. The man was like the tall, reedy women that had generated so much interest in the market. He looked so thin she figured a strong wind could take him out. He had a spectacular mane of hair, whiter than snow. It swept to his feet and he had two locks of it pulled up, one on either side of his head, looking like nothing more than bunny ears. He wore something that put the word 'doorman' in her mind. The uniform was stomach-remedy pink with white trims and caplets. She knew she shouldn't laugh but she couldn't help it. A snippet bubbled out of her before she could swallow it back.  
  
His sky blue eyes narrowed. Those eyes, glacial cold, held undeniable menace in them. The way he moved belied the ridiculous uniform. She recognized the easy rolling gait of someone used to battle. She glanced down at his hands. A rust-colored powder dusted them. Blood. She wasn't sure why she made that mental leap but she was sure she was right.  
  
He said nothing as he prowled over to her. She stood stock still not knowing how to handle this situation. The door was shut tight again and even if she beat him in a fight she wasn't sure she could even get out of the room. For now, she needed to study the situation.   
  
His nostrils flared, drinking in her scent. He circled her, not touching. Finally he reached out and lifted her chin. She fought the urge to jerk away. She couldn't afford to offend this man, not yet. She couldn't simply react. She needed to plan. She didn't know where she was nor did she know how to get home. If she ran now, she could end up in a worse situation than she was already in.  
  
His huge eyes bore into hers. Nothing suggesting warmth could be found in those vast pools of blue. They were the eyes of a predator. She felt tiny and vulnerable in that gaze and hated it. She couldn't remember much about her life but she knew she wasn't weak by nature.  
  
His blood-encrusted fingers buried themselves in her hair. She bore with this inspection, too. Finally he stepped away, went to one of the dressers and opened a door. Inside was a decanter and glasses. He poured himself a drink and sank smoothly into a chair. His eyes returned to inspecting her, taking complete stock of every detail. While he sipped something she took to be wine, she knew she was being assessed.   
  
"What is your name?" His voice fell soft and almost effeminate in her ear.  
  
She tried to determine if the voice fit the man. Truly he was feared, if Nojh was to be believed, and he bore signs of violence yet his dress and hair spoke of peacock, more glitz than substance. She pushed through the clouds in her mind to find the answer to his question. She nearly said Angel since the word had obvious meaning to her but the name that passed her lips surprised her. "Buffy."  
  
She wrinkled her nose as her lips peeled away from perfect white teeth. 'Buffy?' What kind of name was that? It was something given to a fluffy rat dog or worse what someone tagged empty-headed cheerleaders with. What kind of grown woman had the name Buffy? Yet somehow she knew it was her name.  
  
The lord's thin lips pursed and he got up, stalking over to her like a panther. "Buffy. You're a right looker, aren't you? I saw your fire at the market. It will be a true joy to break someone like you to my will."  
  
Buffy stared at him, afraid again. There were so many things she still couldn't remember, things that would help her here. She didn't want him anywhere near her and knew that she might be able to stop him but couldn't fathom why she should think that.  
  
He reached out to her, intending to pull her close when someone banged loudly at the door. He cursed, crossing over to it. He shoved a key in the lock and flung it open. Another man in a grey uniform took a step back from the door.  
  
"They're rioting in Prorec again. You're needed there, m'lord," the man said apologetically.  
  
Colpa grumbled and turned back to Buffy. "This will take at least a day. My servants shall bring you food. There is no way out of this room but I'm sure you'll try any how. When you grow tired of it, rest and avail yourself of the diversions I have around the chambers," he instructed then strode through the door.  
  
Buffy heard the locks turning. She let out a loud sigh and looked at that heavy door. She did want to try it but her body was still exhausted and dragged down by all the drugs she had been fed. She decided to take advantage of his absence and get some sleep to recharge her body. It would give her a better chance at escape.  
  
***  
  
Angel never thought that he would ever return to the Sunnydale sewer system yet here he was again, wading through barely-there water. The particular smell of the tunnels brought up the past. Actually, sewers anywhere reminded him of his history. It just seemed that the memories of sewers were particularly awful in association with Sunnydale. Over two years later, he could still bring to mind the expression on Buffy's face when he told her he didn't want his life to be with her any longer. Even more recently in the past that only he remembered, he could see her climbing into the light, while he remained behind in the darkness to hunt the Mohra.   
  
Self-flagellation was something Angel understood all too well. How often had he wished he could second-guess himself? How many times had he looked back on his past and thought, if I'd only taken that turn, rather than this? Regrets made up too many of his thoughts those days. If he hadn't given back the day, would Buffy be alive? If he'd never gone to Pylea, would he have realized she needed help?   
  
The 'ifs' could make him crazy and Angel realized it. Still, he couldn't help but play different scenarios, ones where his GTX landed them in Sunnydale rather than Caritas in time to rescue Buffy. Ones where Cordy had never been sucked into Pylea. Ones where he and Buffy actually had a chance to love one another, without recriminations.   
  
Then there were the other 'what ifs'. Angel could never quite push them from his mind, the doubts and fears. What if Faith being the next Slayer was the way the role had to be played? What if they found Buffy and she didn't want to return to Earth, to become the girl she used to be?  
  
What if Buffy wasn't alive at all and this was just some mad hope they all had, because it was the only way any of them could keep going?   
  
Angel groaned, slumping against a tunnel wall, letting the emotions he'd been keeping inside overwhelm him finally. The sound of his agony echoed through the tubes and he dropped to his knees, no longer able to hold the pain at bay. Here, in this place where there was no one to hear, no one to scold him, tell him to get on with his so-called life, here he could let go. The fear, the loss, the overwhelming sorrow he'd felt, all of it came rushing out in one great flood. Here he allowed himself finally to remember, to reach back in his mind's eye to the times when a tiny blonde girl loved him.   
  
In the sewers of Sunnydale, Angel finally let himself grieve, man and demon in accord, both of them howling in rage and sorrow at the loss of Buffy Summers to the world, to Sunnydale, to self.   
  
***  
  
Giles glanced around the airport. It was too bright, too harsh. He had tried to sleep on the plane but he was too restless. He doggedly looked at all the volumes he was able to carry on board but they had nothing new to offer, poor substitute for the books waiting for him in Sunnydale with one glaring exception. He had committed to memory every page of a ragged book bound in garish blue leather that he had just recently been given by the Watchers' Council.  
  
He heard his name being called only seconds before arms wrapped tightly around him. He dropped his carry-on and put his arms around the tiny young woman. He rested his cheek on the top of her head, her red hair smelling sweetly of flowers. He lifted his head and took an embarrassed step back, remembering Willow had not come alone. He gave Wyndham-Price a strained smile as the ex-Watcher picked up the dropped carry-on. Wesley looked very different than Giles remembered, a proper Englishman in blue tweed. Wesley, unshaven and haggard, stood there in a sweatshirt and jeans that bagged around his too-slim frame.  
  
"Hello Mr. Giles," Wesley said.  
  
"Hello. It's wonderful to see you, Willow." He brushed a tear off her cheek, feeling his own eyes misting up. "I missed you."  
  
"We all missed you," she said, sniffling.  
  
"It's nice to know that, but hellos can wait until later. It's my understanding you found several books that might aid in locating Buffy." Excitement ironed out the wrinkles around his eyes and cupid mouth.  
  
"Not as many as I would have liked," Wesley admitted as Giles started for the baggage claim. "And we are in danger with every moment we have these texts. We...borrowed them from Wolfram and Hart, think of them as the Watchers' evil twin with lawyers added in for fun. They've already sent Dru and Darla after the books."  
  
Giles did a double take. "Darla? But Angel...." He broke off, realizing strangers could overhear him. "Darla went to dust five years ago."  
  
"Wolfram and Hart had a scroll they used to bring her back body and soul to lure Angel back to evil. We have one of the lawyers who helped with that spell helping us now," Wesley whispered, as they trekked through the airport.  
  
Giles eyebrows rose. "Is that wise?"  
  
"Lindsey isn't exactly excited to be here and no one trusts him but at the moment he's on the run from Wolfram and Hart," Wesley said with a shrug.  
  
"Don't forget, he got Angel custody of Dawn," Willow piped up. "That means he can't be all bad, right?"  
  
Giles nearly stopped dead in pathway, causing people to eddy around their small group. "Angel has legal custody of Dawn?" he asked, remembering to keep his voice down to a low shout.   
  
Willow shrugged, inclining her head towards Wesley. The ex-Watcher coughed into his hand. "We were concerned...as I said, our, em, 'evil twins' might have an interest in Dawn. Or someone else could have made an attempt to take her. Angel thought it best if he had some sort of legal bargaining chip."  
  
Squeezing the bridge of his nose, Giles closed his eyes and nodded. "Yes," he said slowly, thinking he might just have to agree with the vampire in this regards. Shaking off the peculiar idea, he called to mind all the illustrations in that blue book. "I have a text from the Council library that describes what we think Glory's realm is like. I have it memorized."  
  
"Splendid. We need to figure out who's going across. If you know the terrain, it should be you but we can talk about that later when we're all together," Wesley said.  
  
"Most everyone is back at the magic shop except Angel and Spike. Angel's asleep...maybe. Spike definitely is. We're not even sure how he's alive," Willow said, her voice barely rising above a whisper.  
  
Giles read her sympathetic look and it left him wondering what had happened to the vampire that could actually worry Willow.   
  
Reading his expression, Willow said, "Darla shoved a metal rod through him and added electricity. He's pretty fried. He still wants to go with us though. Does anyone know how long a vampire takes to heal from something like that?"   
  
"Well, until meeting Angel, I was only concerned with killing them," Wesley said, noting that some of the other passengers grouped around the luggage carousel had overheard and were edging away nervously.  
  
"Yes, quite," Giles said, perking up a bit hearing the alarm that signaled the start of the luggage carousel. "I'll tell you what I know about Glory's realm once we're all together."  
  
"Of course." Wesley nodded. 


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3  
  
What would you take on faith?   
  
That was a question Lindsey McDonald had had the time to ask himself a lot lately. He asked it as he worked up papers that gave temporary custody of a human girl to an ancient vampire. He asked it as he allowed himself to be bullied into entering the offices of his ex-employers, to steal magical tomes to possibly rescue a girl he'd never met, never even seen. He'd asked it as he had paced around the room he'd rented in Sunnydale, California, only two hours from Los Angeles and the possibility of his death. He wondered how many more times he'd ask himself this question within the next twenty-four hours.   
  
Would you take on faith that a vampire with a soul loved a Slayer? That a government agency had pulled a clockwork orange on another vampire so he was unable to hurt humans? Would you take on faith that both vampires loved the same woman and would do anything within their power to protect her sister? Would you take on faith that a dead woman might still be alive in another dimension, despite the fact that her body lay buried in a local cemetary? Would you take on faith that a group of kids barely out of high school, a couple of mages and two vampires would do anything, absolutely anything to get her back?   
  
"I'd really like someone to explain that one to me again," Lindsey said, glancing around the Magic Box, his gaze lighting on the blond girl toying with the cover of a book. Tara. Her name was Tara.   
  
"I-I can't explain it," she said quietly, shooting him a worried glance.   
  
"Why not? I mean, I'm not trying to upset anyone, but you did say you saw her fall from the tower, right? You found a lifeless body and you buried it. Now you think she might still be alive? How is that happening?"  
  
"Listen, Mr. Devil's Advocate," Xander said, pointing a finger at Lindsey, "Glory worked on the Hellmouth. Some pretty weird things have happened here, believe me."  
  
"I've probably represented some of them," Lindsey said, smirking.  
  
Xander's mouth opened and closed with a snap. "I don't get it. How did you get from Oklahoma to here without Angel eating you?"  
  
"My natural charm?"   
  
"He had something I wanted." Angel's voice was a surprise, coming in the middle of the morning like it did. Lindsey glanced over at the vampire, noting with a little shock that Angel's clothes seemed mussed, his dark hair even more tousled than normal.   
  
"Dead Boy," Xander said. "Didn't expect to see you up and about this early."  
  
"Giles is arriving soon, right? I thought I'd get a head start on those books. Maybe I can catalogue them into some sort of order for him." Angel moved past Lindsey to the table, still stacked high with tomes.   
  
"He has that glowery look again," Anya said nervously. "I don't like it.  
  
"Well, if he's glowering, there's no chance of him losing his soul, An," Xander said, looping an arm around her shoulders and giving her an affectionate squeeze.   
  
"I thought he needed Buffy for that."  
  
Lindsey kept carefully still as the words seemed to echo around the room in the sudden silence the statement caused. Tilting his eyes, he could see the bulk of the vampire, standing far too close for his own personal comfort. He still didn't quite trust Angel, he wasn't sure he ever would. Soul or no soul, he was still a vampire. Not human. And he wouldn't be surprised if Angel leaped across the width of the store and took Anya to the ground like a lion would an antelope.   
  
"What?" Anya asked, her voice dropping into the silence like a lobbed grenade. "We're all thinking it." She pointed at Tara, the quiet blonde. "You are, aren't you? And you, Xander." Her eyes narrowed as she met Angel's gaze steadily. "Even you."  
  
"An," Xander strangled out, "An, remember what we said about things we say in public and things we say where vampires who could rip out our throats couldn't hear?" He seemed ready to shake a finger in Anya's face, as if it would change anything she'd said. "Apologize to Angel." He risked a look at the vampire and immediately turned back to Anya. "Now. Please. For me."  
  
Sulking, Anya folded her arms. "Oh, all right. But I don't understand why I'm being punished for saying what everyone's thinking. I apologize, Angel. I meant no offense."  
  
Sounding like the words were being pulled over a grater, Angel said, "None taken."  
  
"See?" Flapping a hand in Angel's direction, Anya rounded on her boyfriend. "He didn't mind."  
  
Xander took her elbow and pulled her across the room, muttering to her quietly. Both of them cast glances over their shoulders, Anya's punctuated by occasional exclamations and a slow but definite increase of her volume.  
  
Tara carefully edged her way around the table from Angel, taking a book with her. Without looking her way, Angel said, "I'm not going to hurt you, Tara."   
  
She jumped, almost guiltily. "I-I kn-kn-know," she said, her head bobbing with the effort of getting the words out. "It-it-it-it's just...." A hand waved helplessly.   
  
"You've heard all the stories," Angel said grimly. His smile was like the edge of a knife.   
  
Tara ducked her head, peering out at him from a curtain of honey-colored hair and nodded, embarrassed. Lindsey wondered what stories these people might have about Angel and a part of him thought that Wolfram and Hart might be willing to call off whatever dogs they'd set on him for information on Angel. He glanced at Angel to find the vampire staring back at him levelly. With a twist of his mouth, Lindsey hefted a book and showed it to Angel. "Just getting something to read while I'm waiting," he said and sat down across from Angel.   
  
"I know what you're thinking, Lindsey," Angel said softly, his voice barely carrying. "And so help me, if you even so much as pick up a phone and dial the first three numbers to Wolfram and Hart, I'll know about it."  
  
"You have such faith in people, Angel," Lindsey said, opening the book and flipping past the frontpiece with its particularly gruesome woodblock print of St. George and the Dragon.   
  
"Sometimes, it's justified."   
  
* * * 


End file.
